


does it make you feel alive?

by ithacas



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-21
Updated: 2013-11-21
Packaged: 2018-01-02 05:11:03
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,062
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1052888
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ithacas/pseuds/ithacas
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>they get mobbed at lax. harry tries to comfort liam. things gets in the way.</p>
            </blockquote>





	does it make you feel alive?

**Author's Note:**

> so, this started out as shameless fluff and proceeded to become me enjoying making harry styles suffer. inspired by real life events that happened yesterday. none of this is real, though i'd certainly be okay if it was. enjoy!

 

 

"It might be a bit mad out there," someone from security says - Luke or Alberto, Harry isn't sure which, but he can tell they're annoyed. He shrugs half-heartedly to no one; they've done this enough times now that he's perversely used to it. Louis is pitching a fit though, standing close to Niall to prove a point, shouting something about not being animals, _we don't need to be herded, we've used the other exits before, why can't we do it now?_

They all know why, of course. Album number three is a big deal, album number three is their biggest venture yet and they all know it, have all known they'll have shit to deal with. Harry doesn't mind, not really; he doesn't mind being hounded by paps every time he tries to leave the house, because it's a game at this point. Who's gonna get bored first of Harry Styles doing mundane things like stand in front of a cash machine in the rain, wearing the same outfit for three consecutive days just to fuck with them. There are only so many bullshit articles the Mail can write about with the caption _Manwhore Styles Treats Female Friends to Private Lapdance in front of Bank_ or something.

So, coming to LA, where they _know_ paps and crowds will be waiting for them, it's too much of a bother to plead for a drama-free exit. Even Niall can brush it off now; after three years, you can't not get used to being pushed and pulled through a crowd of screaming girls, a camera shoved in your face every way you turn. Still, they all appreciate Louis' effort; Zayn sticks close to him to keep him from decking anyone in the face out of sheer frustration and Harry squeezes him lightly on the arm before walking ahead of them. Niall stays silent, probably psyching himself up for the hustle; Liam is oddly quiet, pulling his snapback further down his head like he's trying to hide.

Harry falls back behind a protective circle of PR people, in step with Liam. He knocks a pointed finger into his side, waits for Liam to glance over and give him a crinkley-eyed smile. He gets a pathetic approximation of one instead, like Liam's forgotten how to work the muscles in his jaw properly. So it's one of those days then.

He stops in the middle of the airport, just before they get to the glass doors that separate them from the horde. Everyone else stops with him; security get on their phones to make sure the cars are up front waiting for them, Jane from PR goes up to Louis' mum and tells her not to engage with any fans, then looks sternly over at Louis and warns him not to get chatty with any paps, and Harry stands in front of Liam, one hand tight on his shoulder. They've done this before; it's become kind of a ritual between them in the last year, when Liam got himself a bigger share of the spotlight since his breakup.

"Y'alright, mate," he asks quietly, but the din around them makes it so only Liam can hear. He fidgets under Harry's grip, cracks his knuckles around the backpack strap he's holding like a lifeline.

"Yeah, I'm fine," he mutters finally. "Just antsy, a bit. Don't really fancy walking through all that." He tips his chin in the direction of the glass doors. There's some sort of barricade that's barely holding back the people screaming at the sight of them. Harry makes a mental note to team up with Louis and yell at Jane when they're at the hotel; they're still a formidable pair when they want to be.

He squeezes Liam's shoulder all the more tightly. "You wanna run off? Bet we can lose these wankers and grab the first flight to, like, Singapore or something." He looks left and right, his moves exaggerated enough to make Liam crack a smile and Jane to inch towards them, suspicious.

"Sounds good, Hazza."

 _Mission accomplished_ , Harry thinks when he spots the familiar lines around Liam's eyes. "That's what I like to see, Payne. C'mon, gimme a proper cuddle before we get eaten alive."

Liam lets out a shaky breath, like he's been waiting for Harry to offer for a while now, and sinks into him, wrapping his arms around Harry's waist. Harry can feel his hands bunching his jacket into fists, trembling a little with tension. It's their thing, this is, comforting each other before going through crowds and he knows Liam's grateful for it. He presses his lips in the junction between Liam's neck and his shoulder, makes an effort to wet the skin under his hoodie and smiles when he feels Liam squirm around him.

"Ew, Harry," he says, voice muffled in the sheepskin of Harry's jacket.

"You love it," Harry counters, hands sneaking from Liam's shoulder to the nape of his neck, massaging away the nerves. He's better at this than Liam is - better than all of them, really, the baby of the group against the big bad world, but it's not something he's proud of. It's just nice to know a hug can work a little calm into Liam.

Harry pulls back reluctantly when he feels Jane tapping his forearm. Before he turns, he gives Liam a look. _Are you okay now?_ Liam's nod means more to him than Harry really fancies admitting.

"We're all good, then?" Jane asks, one eyebrow raised in particular at Harry and Liam. They nod, both of them, back to the dutiful boys they're supposed to be now. Jane seems satisfied and attaches her mobile back to her ear. "They're coming out now."

It's madness, of course it is. Jane sends out Louis first, one member of security ahead of him to clear the way. There's screaming almost immediately; a poster goes flying over Louis' head, narrowly missing Alberto's eye and then there are flashes, making Louis look pallid and sickly. Niall and Zayn follow and there's pandemonium all over again. Harry panics for a second when he sees Zayn gesture wildly at some photographer and Jane's there in the blink of an eye, making her way through the crowd with an ease even Harry hasn't managed to acquire.

"Reckon it's our turn now?" Liam's shoulders are squared, like he's about to enter a battlefield, not meeting his adoring fans. Harry feels a rush of affection for him; it's really, really not fair that they have to do this.

"I'll go first, yeah? You just stick close to me." He waits for Liam to get over the hesitation - he bites his lip, then smiles, mouths _go on then_ \- and Harry immediately pushes through, head ducked down and hand luggage pressed close to him.

"Harry, Harry, over here, Harry, please, we've been waiting _hours!"_

"Harry, I love you, oh my God, I can't believe it, Harry -"

"Gonna call anyone up to the hotel, Harry -"

"- how's Taylor, Harry -"

"- fucking f-"

He tunes it out almost as soon as he's outside, ignores the pleading and _I loves yous_ and the insults to get a rise out of him, just focuses on putting one foot in front of the other and following Luke to the cars. It gets to him sometimes - of course it does, he's only human, being famous is only a profession so far until a pap tries to trip him over for a picture - but it's alright now. Or at least, he can pretend it is better, because even though there must someone between them, he can feel Liam's anxiety a mile away.

He hears _Taylor_ and _shit_ and _cheating_ thrown at him from every direction and then he feels a jolt in the back, like someone's pulling at him. For a second he freezes. He's been pulled by fans before and it's never pleasant but this time he looks back to check. There's a finger looped around his gym bag and he glances at Liam who's holding on to Harry like he can't find his way otherwise. Warmth pools his belly, this fierce white-hot need to _protect_ or something and he forces himself to keep walking. Slower this time, so he can make sure Liam doesn't let go.

"You're in car one, Harry, with Zayn. Liam, you're in two," Jane says evenly, reading from the tablet in her hands. Sometimes Harry can't believe their lives are planned out to this minute detail.

There's jostling behind him, one of those creeps he recognizes that's always following them when they're in the west coast, and Liam's hand falls from Harry's bag.

"Ow," he hears him murmur in a low voice. Harry turns to watch Liam press a hand to his chest like someone bumped into him. Harry clenches his teeth, sees Liam shake his head at one of their security - "I don't like this." - and it's enough for him to come to a decision. He grabs Liam by the crook of his arm and waves for Jane's attention.

"Liam's coming with me, alright?" He could've sworn he felt Liam relax into him at the words. Jane looks panic-stricken.

"You're in the car with _Zayn_ , Harry -"

"Zayn can go in the front, right, Zayn?" He looks over to see Zayn already getting into the passenger seat, throwing dark looks at everyone. He pastes a fake smile on his face and directs it at Jane.

"See? Sorted. C'mon, Li." He slips his hand from Liam's arm to the small of his back and gives him a small push to get him in the car. It's the best thing he's heard in twelve hours when the car door shuts behind him and there's silence other than the quiet buzz of the radio. It's a perverse kind of joke the universe is playing on him when he makes out the song coming from the speakers. The driver fumbles with the dial looking terrified and it's Zayn that calmly hits the power button, cutting Taylor's high note short.

"Fucking hell," Harry breathes when the engine finally roars underneath them and the car starts moving. It's silent for a long moment. Then - of all things - Harry hears a giggle.

He looks up in the rear view mirror to see Zayn doing one of his small smiles. It's not directed at Harry though. He glances to his left and sees Liam folded over himself in two almost, shaking with giggles. Scratch what Harry said before; _this_ is actually the best sound in the world. He's convinced somewhere in a country far, far away from them, a fairy is being born out of the sound of Liam laughing.

"You okay, bro?" Zayn doesn't sound concerned, just like he's checking Liam isn't having a nervous breakdown. Liam sits up and wipes tears from his eyes, eyes lost under the wrinkles.

"Yeah, it's just - Taylor Swift, you know?" He looks at Harry, trying to seem apologetic but it's hardly working; he bursts into giggles a second later.

"Oh, I'm sure Harry knows, Liam," Zayn says cheekily and Harry kicks out at his seat just to be a prick. Zayn makes no sign of being bothered by it, just slides down on the leather and shuts his eyes. "Wake me up when were at the hotel, Swiftie."

"Fuck off, Little Mix." Which actually isn't clever at all but Harry's not as quick as Louis is with the comebacks. He'll figure something out later, maybe text Zayn a better insult when he knows he's sleeping. He kicks again, disappointed at the lack of retaliation, then turns to Liam, whose composure has apparently returned. He's biting his lower lip thoughtfully - making it look stupidly swollen and, really, Harry has not time to be noticing this kind of crap.

He coughs into a loose fist and scoots closer to Liam. "Hey. Wasn't that bad, was it?"

Liam sniffs. "Eh. We've been through worse. Just sucks a bit." He leans his head back and looks up at Harry. "Thanks. For before."

"Anytime, mate. Anything to fuck with Jane, really," Harry shrugs insincerely. Liam's eyes are boring into him, like he can see right through Harry's bullshit.

"Sounding like Tommo, there. No, I mean it, though. I feel better when you're around and we're doing this kind of thing."

The warmth that hasn't left him since before intensifies in the pit of his stomach. "It's nothing, Li," he says modestly.

Liam bumps into him on purpose as they take a turning at some traffic lights. "Don't get cocky, Styles." Okay, admittedly, Harry isn't the greatest at the modesty thing. His gigantic clown smile always ruins the effect. He sighs like it's paining him to admit he's fucking awesome.

"Fine, Liam. I'm the best, you should erect a statue in my honour." Liam chuckles just like Harry had known he would. Only Liam appreciates this sort of humour; if anyone else had heard him, he'd get a smack on the head. Or gotten thrown out the moving car, in Louis' case.

"I might," Liam says seriously. He stretches his arm out and for one crazy second Harry thinks he's going in for another hug. Not that that's weird for them; One Direction as a whole could use hugs as currency at this point. It's just this time, Harry's a bit scared of how much he wants it, wants Liam to hug him. Definitely just to hug him.

Liam punches him instead and Harry groans when he feels a sharp pain in his groin. "What was that for," he manages in a deceptively high pitched voice.

Liam grins. "For wanting a statue. We're supposed to hit each other in the balls if we get too big for our boots, remember?" Harry suddenly very much regrets his teenage self and his eagerness for dickslaps as punishment.

"But, seriously, though, Harry." Harry blinks back the tears and refocuses on Liam who's leaning over him, wide-eyed and tired and sort of beautiful. Jesus. Dickslaps make him lose it, clearly.

"Thanks, yeah? You made me feel safe back then. You're the only one that does that actually."

It's so unbelievably stupid that it's that, Liam's words and the endearing tone he's using, that make him ignore the pain. He opens his mouth to speak - to say what, he's not really sure - but the car comes to a stop and there's a sharp rap against the blackened window. He turns to see Jane looking at them primly and waving room keys like an invitation.

"Oh, for fuck's sake," he mutters.

"She's a bit scary, isn't she," Liam observes. Possibly there's never been a truer statement.

Harry leans over to flick Zayn in the ear - "Ow, you tit, what was that, I was sleeping!" - and jumps out of the car and into the lobby before his bandmate gets the chance to murder him. He hides behind a sleepy Niall, using him as a shield against Zayn. Zayn takes one glance at Niall's red-rimmed eyes and takes him under his wing, throwing Harry what's very clearly a _you ain't seen nothing yet_ look.

"I'd bolt the door if I were you," Louis says sagely, sidling up to Harry and watching Niall and Zayn take the elevator first. "He's gonna kill you. Oh, hey, Payno."

Harry can see Liam yawn from the corner of his eyes. "Hey, Louis. I'm knackered."

"Same. My kingdom for a horizontal bed."

"As opposed to a vertical one?" Harry points out. Louis thumps him.

"Shut up, genius. Go get tattooed or something. I'm off to sleep. Don't knock on my door if you're in pain." He stomps off after Zayn before Harry manages to get a word edgewise.

"But, _Louis!"_ He very nearly stamps his feet. He likes being taken care of after he's had a giant needle on his body for three hours. "Dickhead," he mutters to himself. Someone nudges his side.

"You can come in mine if you want," Liam offers, shrugging his backpack further up his shoulder. "I'll be awake probably. Fucking jetlag."

"Fucking jetlag," Harry agrees. They both take their turn on the lift, hitting five and leaning against the glass. "You're really not gonna sleep?"

"Nah. Still a bit weirded out from before. Don't worry, I'll get over it." Harry wasn't aware he looked worried. He tries to school his expression in a firm, _what are you talking about, I don't care_ sort of expression. Liam's smile tells him it doesn't work.

"Fancy coming with me for a tat, then?" he offers. He's not sure if he'd rather Liam say yes or no right now. He's confused by something, only he's not sure what. "I might be a bit jetlagged, come to think of it." He shakes his head just as the lift comes to a stop, his curls escaping his beanie.

"Haven't felt the urge. Not like you, am I, Haz. And you should try and sleep if you're feeling weird." Bloody Liam, all motherly, all the time. Harry rolls his shoulders.

"Maybe. Which is mine?" They're standing at a hallway with identical doors all the way down. Liam grabs Harry's hand in his and Harry's suddenly very unnecessarily aware of how warm Liam's skin is. He slips a gold room card onto Harry's palm.

"You're five oh two. I'm five oh three. Neighbours," Liam proclaims and he says it like nothing has ever made him happier. Harry is totally losing his mind.

"Right, okay. Goodnight, Liam," he shoves his notebook under his arm and almost fucking runs into the door. The door flashes red, once, twice, three times and Harry is not okay if he suddenly doesn't remember how to open _doors_. The same warm hand wraps over his and pries the card away from him.

"Here, let me, Haz." The door handle flashes green and the door clicks open just as Liam pushes it. "There. All set."

"Thanks, mate," Harry mutters, feeling his cheeks flush. "I'm - I'll - see you in the morning."

"Happy tattooing! I'd say don't do anything I wouldn't do, but we both know that's silly." Liam's acting so _normal_ and Harry's acting so very _not_ and it's actually hard not to slam the door in Liam's face out of pure frustration.

He dumps his bag on the floor and takes a couple of steps to flop onto the bed, bouncing on the soft mattress.

It's the airport mobbing, it's got to be, it's messing up with Harry's brain, turning it into mushy, protective, Liam Payne-related silliness. What's really awful, though - what's got Harry groaning into mattress, a pool of guilt settling in his chest, is the white-hot fierce warmth he's been feeling. He recognises it now and he knows exactly how to deal with it. Biting his lip until his draws blood, he turns on the bed and cups around his straining jeans. Honestly, what the fuck is wrong with him, that Liam being vulnerable and needing protecting gets him _hard?_ He's an awful human being.

He's about to rub one off, make himself come in his pants just so the feeling of shame gets a physical reminder for tomorrow morning, when his arse starts vibrating. He moans at the back of his throat before he catches what he's doing. "The fuck, Styles," he mutters to himself, "your phone gets you going now?" The whole day is just confirming how he's one basket short of a fucking picnic.

He wiggles on the bed, gets an arm around himself to pull out his phone. There are three texts waiting for him; one from Shamrock Tattoos, calling to confirm he's coming. He taps out a reply to that - _sorryyyyyyyyy something came up at the airport, can't make it :( I'll call for another appointment tmrrw !!! Xxxxxxx._ Maybe the _x_ s are a bit much, considering he's texting his tattoo artist, but whatever, he really is sorry that he's canceling because he's getting off to his bandmate. The second text is from Cal, warning him that he's coming over for brunch, _and don't you dare be late we have football to watch. Sent from Cal Aurand xoxo ilu._ Cal still hasn't figured out how to stop texting without a signature. Harry actually is a genius, fuck what Louis says.

 _'pranking octogenarians isn't something to be proud of harold go the fuck to sleep x'_ Louis texts back when Harry informs him. Harry pouts at the screen - he still thinks it's a pretty good joke.

The last text is from Liam, which reminds Harry of the slightly alarming situation in his skinny jeans.

_are u ok??? U were a bit wierd before_

Bloody Liam.

"Bloody Liam." Harry slaps a hand to his face. This is ridiculous. He's travelled to the States a hundred times, he's been _mobbed_ a hundred more and he's definitely, one hundred per cent been hugged, fondled, dickslapped by Liam probably in the thousands. He has no fucking idea what the hell is wrong with him this time. When he tries to make sense of it - rewinds back to Heathrow, or to Liam picking him up from his house, or to the fucking book signing, he still doesn't get it. Liam's been just as lovely as always. Just as crinkley-eyed, just as sweet, just as fucking considerate as the erstwhile 'sensible' one has always been.

The only difference, as far as Harry can figure out, is how they've been joined at the hip for almost a year and now, for about two weeks he's been completely Liam-less. Which is not a _thing_. Except apparently it _is_. And it's culminated in Harry freaking out when he gets himself a handful of Liam for a flight from London to Los Angeles and having a mental breakdown when he has to let him go face the horde. Well. A mental breakdown _and_ an embarrassing hard-on.

_harrrryyyyyyyyyy :( are u geting ur tatoooooo don't ingore me_

"I'm actually trying really hard to do just that, _thank_ you, Liam." Harry's talking to his phone. Harry's talking to himself. It's becoming a habit. He's been doing it all this break. He should probably ask Jane to book him an appointment at a shrink. Except how the hell would that go. _Yes, my problem is that I want to wank to one of my best friend's face, especially when he tells me he needs me._ He's already halfway being accused of being a nymphomaniac. Every tabloid in the UK would have a field day.

His phone buzzes about fifteen times in quick succession.

_Harry._

_HARRYYYY_

_HARRRRRRYYYYYYYY_

_harryyy plase_

_HARRY_

_IM CALLING UR ROOM_

_harry mi warning u_

The next text is from a clearly disgruntled Zayn.

_fucking answer Liam's texts u twat if u make him cry I'll kill u and make louis hide the body_

Now, not only is he feeling guilty over rubbing one off to Liam's face, he's feeling guilty because he's making Liam sad. Harry is being persecuted by the universe.

Sighing because his life is hard - fuck, _difficult_ , his life is _difficult_ nothing about his life is hard, especially not his cock - he stands up, precariously rubs his thighs and walks over to his door. He wrenches it open and stomps opposite to the glinting numbers five oh three. He raises a hand to knock on the door, second guesses himself and turns on his heel to go back to his room.

Luck is obviously fucking with him. He pats down his pockets - condom, one of Louis' doodles on a piece of paper from his notebook, a sweet wrapper - careful when he accidentally touches his dick and doesn't find his room key. "Fuck everything!" he whisper-shouts to no one.

He considers for a moment knocking on someone else's door. Zayn isn't an option - Harry would like to live a few more years, thank you very much - and Niall will definitely not hear anything that isn't a call to breakfast and Louis did very plainly say he didn't want any night visitors. Big words and all that, except Harry doesn't even know which room is Louis'. Literally what did he do to deserve this? Whose grandpa did he run over in another life?

He knocks this time, a sharp rap of his knuckles against wood and stares down at his feet while he waits. He hears footsteps on the other side, thinks wildly that knocking on every door except this one was probably his best bet and tries not to turn tomato red when he sees Liam in front of him.

Liam's face breaks into a grin. "Harry!"

Harry wants to gouge his eyes out. "Liam," he says through clenched teeth and brushes past him into the room. It's identical to his own, except the telly is on and playing some 80s movie Gemma's obsessed with and Liam's suitcase is open to a mess of clothes. Somehow he finds that extremely offensive - the suitcase or the movie, he's not sure which he means - and kicks at the foot of his bed, stubbing his toe.

"Ow, fuck!" He hops on one leg in excruciating pain. Louis told him once, the best way to stop from getting a boner on stage is to hurt yourself really, really badly. Apparently it's a night of new discoveries for Harry though, because aside from wanting to ruin Liam, he has a pain kink too. He sits down on the bed and crosses his legs to hide the bulge. Liam is watching him completely stupefied.

"Are you alright, Harry?" He sounds concerned. Fuck him.

"Do I look alright to you, Liam?" He doesn't mean to sound snappy. Actually, no, he probably does.

Liam's face falls, worry lines etching on his forehead. "Did I do something to cross you?"

Harry sweeps his eyes around the room for something sharp to stab himself with. He settles on the cheese knife that's sitting on top of the complimentary plate of cheese. _He_ didn't get a complimentary cheese plate in _his_ room. _You don't deserve a complimentary cheese plate,_ he tells himself. _You made Liam Payne sad, you deserve never to eat complimentary cheese again in your entire life._

He sighs. "No, of course you didn't, Li, don't be silly." He can tell his face has turned all doughy and soft, the way it always does when he thinks he's disappointed Liam.

Liam smiles. "Oh, good. 'Cos you had me worried for a minute there." He sits down next to Harry and Harry squeezes his thighs together, thinks guts and gore and Miley Cyrus to kill his boner. The last one especially does not work anymore, because now the thought of Miley Cyrus comes with the image of those tight shorts he has stuffed in his case for no good reason.

Then Liam puts a hand on Harry's thigh and Harry all but falls off the bed. "Harry, are you _sure_ you're okay -" He digs his nails in in to the fleshy part of Harry's leg, frowning. Harry wants to cry. He really, really does. He swallows instead and thinks _public humiliation_ which is not a good thing, no matter how much his dick twitches. God, he's a weird kinky bastard.

Liam's smiling at him softly and that's when Harry notices the bags under his eyes, the tiredness that isn't just a long journey over too many time zones. He forgets about his dick for a minute - well, files it away for later - and nudges Liam's arm with an elbow. "I'm fine. Don't worry about me, I told you. How are you? Still shaken up from before?"

Liam's shoulders slump. "I'm not sure why it bothered me so much today. Sorry you had to deal with me."

Boner or not, sometimes Harry really does love Liam a lot. He cuddles up to his side, because something tells him Liam needs it, and lays his head on his favourite place, just under Liam's neck. "I never have to deal with you, Li. Don't ever think that."

He can feel Liam smile in his hair. "Y'mean it, Haz?"

"'Course, stupid. 'S what I'm here for. Dickslapping and Liam comforting."

Liam laughs. "Right. Good to know."

"Always." He kisses down on Liam's shoulder, very firmly resists the urge to bite and mark Liam up, and then pulls back slightly. He glances at the television - Jon Cryer is doing an interpretative dance to Otis Redding - and gives in to the yawn he's been fighting for ages. "Are we watching this then?" He crawls over the mattress and settles down under the duvet, fluffing the pillows to get more comfortable. Liam's watching him fondly from the edge of the bed.

"I thought you were getting a tattoo done today?"

"Nah," Harry shrugs. "I'd rather sit tight here with you. Come on, come up, Liam, I'm getting cold." He pats the other side of the mattress, a fraction too close to himself to be considered appropriate. Whatever, Harry doesn't care what's appropriate at this point.

Apparently neither does Liam who shuffles to the top of the bed and slides in next to Harry, pressing his body flush against him. Harry has definitely had better ideas in his life. The movie goes on in front of them - Harry's definitely been forced to watch it before, you can't forget a dress that ugly - and it's way early in the am when the credits roll. Harry's eyes are heavy and so is his dick and Liam is snoring quietly into Harry's shoulder, looking more relaxed than Harry has seen him all day. He considers going into the bathroom to get himself sorted but Liam's so _warm_ and jetlag is finally catching up with Harry and, ugh, maybe he can be responsible towards his dick in the morning.

He settles more comfortably on his pillow, careful not to jostle Liam.

"Thanks for being lovely, Hazza," comes a voice just before Harry loses himself to sleep.

Harry smiles against Liam's forehead. "Anytime, Liam."

"I'll make it up to you tomorrow," is Liam's sleepy reply.

Harry shouldn't - he really, honestly shouldn't because he's a good bloke, deep, deep, very deep down - but he does anyway, because he's also a slave to his impulses. Two seconds away from unconsciousness, maybe he's allowed. "And how do you propose do that, Liam?"

Harry definitely does not yelp when he feels a hand palming his cock.

"I can think of a way or two," Liam says smugly.

 


End file.
